


Friendly Fire

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [44]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Dragon Riders, Drama, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29879970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: When a Musketeer cadet accidentally shoots a guardsman during a riot, their captain is out for blood.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [44]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

Constance signed off on the latest report and went to file it in the shelf unit. On her way back, she paused in the doorjamb between the working part of the captain's office and the bedchamber tucked into the back.

"Need anything?" she asked.

Athos looked up from where he was propped up in bed, a perpetual scowl still set on his face from when Aramis had ordered him put to bedrest while his broken ribs healed.

"I can sit at my desk and handle the paperwork," he insisted.

"Mm-hm. Well, since you asked me to stay on and help with all that anyway, there really isn't much for you to do."

Athos rolled his eyes and shifted as though to swing his legs over the side of the mattress.

"Don't," Constance warned.

He glowered at her. "Madame d'Artagnan—"

She crossed her arms and met his glare with one of her own.

After a moment, he huffed and leaned back.

The outer door creaked open and Constance looked over her shoulder to see Aramis entering.

"How's our patient?" he asked jovially.

"Surly as ever."

"I can hear you," Athos said dryly.

Aramis smirked and strode into the back bedchamber. "How are you feeling?"

"The same as yesterday," Athos replied grouchily. "Aren't you supposed to be on guard duty at the palace?"

"I am just about to head over with Rhaego and Vrita but wanted to check on you first."

"I'm fine. You don't need to keep hovering."

Aramis shared a look with Constance and canted his head thoughtfully. "Well, let's see, you left the garrison after getting thrown out a window, got into a scuffle, and graduated from cracked to broken ribs. You can hardly be trusted to be left alone while recovering."

Athos rolled his eyes again but otherwise didn't deign to respond to the accurate statement.

Aramis gave Constance a small smile as he turned and headed out.

She left Athos to his brooding and returned to the desk to go over the latest supply inventories. But it wasn't long before the door opened again, this time by d'Artagnan. He greeted her with a beaming smile and came around the side of the desk to lean down and give her a quick kiss.

"I was thinking about taking the cadets out to help watch the food distribution centers," he said.

Constance perked up. "That's a good idea. Tensions in the city are on the rise again."

"And with the dragons on rotation between the palace and away hunting, we could use the extra manpower. Not to mention it'd be good experience for them."

She nodded in agreement.

"Porthos should go as well," a voice called out from the bedroom.

Constance and d'Artagnan shared a smirk.

"He will," d'Artagnan called back. He leaned down to steal another kiss, then turned and sauntered off.

Constance bit back her grin and stood up to go lean against the jamb. "Anything else?"

Athos shifted in bed, wincing as he did so. "No," he said sulkily.

Constance decided to take pity on him. "I'll bring you some tea."

.o.0.o.

Aramis stood at one end of the palace gardens. Rhaego and Vrita were stationed along the sides perpendicular to him, forming a rather formidable line of protection for the Queen currently walking among the rose bushes with the Dauphin. Or, pacing was more accurate.

Aramis watched as she took three whole turns, her expression drawn with exhaustion. She definitely didn't look like someone out for a leisurely walk.

He ventured forward. "Your Majesty?"

Anne jerked toward him, then blinked sheepishly. "Sorry, what?"

"Apologies," he said. "I only meant to ask if everything was all right."

She sighed and looked at the sleeping babe in her arms. "He's been fussy lately," she admitted. "He won't settle for anyone but me, not even his governess."

Aramis smiled softly. "He knows his mother."

Anne gave him a rueful smile in return. "Unfortunately, I must keep moving or even I can't keep him from crying."

Ah, that explained things.

"Perhaps a rocking cradle?" he suggested.

Anne snorted in exasperation. "Believe me, we've tried that. He is proving…inconsolable."

"It's just a phase," Aramis assured her.

"One I hope ends soon so I may get some rest." Anne grimaced. "That was very ungrateful of me. Of course I love my son."

Aramis gave her a sympathetic look. "Even mothers need their rest."

She opened her mouth to say something else, but then pulled up short, face scrunching up before a delicate sneeze jerked her body. Unfortunately, it woke the baby who immediately started to cry.

"Oh…" Anne began to lament but was cut off by another sneeze, and then another. She hastily passed the infant off to Aramis before turning away to try to stifle them.

Aramis faltered as he suddenly found his arms full with a fussy baby that appeared to be on the verge of a full meltdown. "Shh," he shushed, rocking little Louis back and forth.

Anne finally composed herself and turned back to him, cheeks red with embarrassment. "That wasn't very dignified," she said in a self-deprecating tone.

Aramis flashed her a kind smile. "I promise not to let anyone know you're as human as the rest of us." He turned back to the baby in his arms and uttered more soothing sounds as he continued to sway where he stood. Little Louis settled. For a moment, Aramis forgot his mother was waiting expectantly, and when he finally caught himself, it was his turn to flash her a sheepish look.

Anne was smiling at him though. "How is an unmarried soldier so good with children?"

"I was in charge of caring for the orphans at the monastery," he replied. "Though, none of them had ever come this small." He glanced down at the baby, lips tugging upward with fondness. This may have been the future King of France, but in this moment, little Louis was the picture of innocence and purity.

Aramis caught himself for yet a second time and finally passed the infant back to his mother.

Anne was still smiling softly at him. "My son could have no better protectors."

She resumed her leisurely pacing up and down the garden path, with Aramis close by to watch over them.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan led the group of cadets through the street on their way to the largest food distribution center that had reportedly had problems in the past.

"You want to keep an eye out for shifty looking folks," he was telling the young lads. "Someone casually looking around in every direction might be looking for a moment when no eyes are on him. Always know where suspicious figures are. Also, people up to no good won't want to make eye contact with you at risk of you remembering their face. _But_ , not everyone who looks away quickly when you pass by is guilty of something. A lot of people have learned to fear those in uniform. In addition to keeping a lookout for troublemakers, it's important to show kindness to the citizens we're here to protect." D'Artagnan paused his stride and turned to look at them all. "Got it?"

A chorus of head nods responded.

D'Artagnan nodded back and resumed walking.

"I feel like I should raise a toast to that rousing sentimentality," Porthos commented with a teasing smirk beside him.

"I'm not wrong," d'Artagnan pointed out.

"Didn't say you were. It's just not how Athos would've phrased it."

D'Artagnan snorted. "Athos wouldn't have said much of anything, just glowered at them all silently before sending them on their way with a warning to not get into any duels with city guards."

A couple snickers sounded behind them, and both d'Artagnan and Porthos pretended to shoot a stern look over their shoulders to quell it. The cadets immediately snapped their mouths closed and ducked their eyes. D'Artagnan and Porthos faced forward again with amused grins.

They arrived at the food distribution center and d'Artagnan waved at the cadets to spread out.

One of the city guardsmen stormed over. "What are you doing here?"

D'Artagnan greeted him with a fake genial smile. "Helping keep the peace."

"Captain Lahaye has been sayin' he needs some of the Musketeers' resources," Porthos put in with a feral grin. "Here we are."

The guard's face pinched in displeasure, but he turned on his heel and strode back to his own men. D'Artagnan and Porthos shared a look before spreading out as well.

The lines were long and the streets packed as usual. D'Artagnan watched somberly as the number of refugees seemed to climb almost every day. Resources were being stretched to the limit and sometimes there wasn't enough to go around. But there was no other place for these people to go. For the farmers and those in animal husbandry, they had lost their crops and herds to the war, and in many cases their land, forced to flee in the face of invading armies. They had no trade to ply here in the city. As for the craftsmen who did, well, there was little wealth to be spent on such things. Really, the only guaranteed job was to enlist, but there was no guarantee anyone who did would last long enough to even see that first commission.

D'Artagnan stood at the end of the square, keeping an eye both on the crowd and the cadets. A couple of the lads were getting distracted by some young women passing through the street. D'Artagnan remembered when Athos had lectured him over that when he'd first been smitten with Constance. He'd probably try to be less brusque when he pulled those cadets aside, but it was an important lesson they needed to learn.

The peace was abruptly disturbed when a few shouts went up, and d'Artagnan saw some of the people in line staggering as though they were being pushed about. And then some started pushing back, which only escalated it into rippling outward from the starting point.

"Come to order!" one of the city guards snapped.

But the chaos had quickly spread until people were pushing forward to get to the food tables, fearful of being crowded out.

"I said come to order!"

D'Artagnan started forward, catching someone that stumbled into him. Someone cried out as they were flung around and thrown into one of the tables, breaking the wood in two and scattering rations everywhere. Irate cries amplified and then fists started flying. In a matter of seconds, an all out mob had begun fighting to snatch up the scraps.

The city guards were yelling and trying to push them back, while the musketeers plucked at those on the outskirts, struggling to wade into the throng and somehow restore order. But there were so many people tightly packed together…

A pistol shot suddenly cracked the air like thunder. Several people screamed and turned to flee at that. D'Artagnan figured one of the soldiers had fired into the air to break through the raving mentality and get the mob to disperse. The flood of bodies he'd been trying to push through a moment ago had now turned and were swarming past him. D'Artagnan struggled to keep his footing in the mass exodus.

A gap had opened up somewhere in the center from which the people were running from, and as the chaos gradually cleared the scene, d'Artagnan saw why—there was a body on the ground.

Eyes widening, he pushed his way through the last of the fleeing crowd and came to a stop over the prone figure dressed in the red and black of the City Guard. D'Artagnan spun in search of who might have been the shooter, only to freeze when his eyes landed on one of the Musketeer cadets standing several yards away, smoking pistol still raised in his hand. The boy's eyes were blown wide as he stared back, first at the fallen guard, then at d'Artagnan.

Porthos jogged over and knelt down on one knee, removing a glove so he could reach for the guard's pulse. After a few beats, he looked up and shook his head. "He's dead."

The cadet paled further, his arm shaking with the weight of the pistol he'd yet to lower.

D'Artagnan turned to Porthos, both of them sharing a grim look. Dear God…


	2. Chapter 2

D'Artagnan slowly approached the cadet, Luca, and reached a hand out to lower the boy's shaking arm and take the pistol from him. Luca shifted his gaze to him, expression slack with horror.

"I…"

"You little bastard!" one of the city guards erupted. "You killed him!"

"I…he had a gun," Luca stammered.

"Of course he did," the guard snarled.

D'Artagnan held up a staying hand at the city guards, then turned back to Luca. "Tell me exactly what happened."

Luca flicked a distraught look between him and the man he'd shot. "He was in the middle of the crowd. I saw him draw a pistol and aim it at the city guards behind the tables. He was going to shoot. I- I didn't think, I shot first."

"You should have thought first, fool," another guard lobbed back at him.

"You were right to act," d'Artagnan told him quietly.

Luca just looked at him with open devastation. "Was I?"

"Arrest him."

A couple of guards moved forward, and d'Artagnan shot them a warning glower.

"Our captains will handle this," he said, having no intention of letting these very angry guardsmen drag Luca off to a prison cell.

Except, Athos was currently out of commission and in no shape to come rushing down here. Which meant d'Artagnan was going to have to take charge.

He turned to the other cadets looking on from the edge of the square. "Get back to the garrison," he ordered. "Tell the captain what happened and that we'll be there shortly."

"That boy deserves to be in the Chatelet," one of the city guards said, taking a threatening step forward.

"And I said Captain Athos will handle this," d'Artagnan retorted.

He glanced at Porthos for support, but the large musketeer was studying the scene with interest. The dead guardsman did have a pistol in his hand, but he had probably drawn it because of the growing mob. He might have been about to shoot into the crowd, in which case they would have had a dead citizen on their hand…or even one of their own if the guard hadn't cared who he was aiming at.

But that wasn't the way things had unfolded, and now they had to deal with the ramifications of a Musketeer cadet being the one who had caused the death of a city guard.

Porthos crouched down and picked up a brown cloak lying near the dead guard, which he examined with contemplative interest. It'd probably come off someone in the scuffle.

"Captain Lahaye won't stand for the murderer of one of his men being allowed to walk free," a guard insisted. "The governor will hear of this!"

"I intend to uphold the law through order, not vengeance," d'Artagnan rejoined sharply. He turned with a regretful look toward Luca, not liking what he was about to do but needing to buy time. "I need your sword, cadet," he said soberly.

Luca still appeared to be in shock as he slowly unbuckled his belt and passed over his blade.

D'Artagnan took the weapons in one hand and clamped the other on the boy's shoulder. "He'll be in the Musketeers' custody while we sort this out," he told the city guards.

He received multiple scathing glowers in response, but fortunately Porthos finally made his way over to provide an extra presence of force.

"I'm sorry," d'Artagnan whispered to Luca as he steered him away from the scene and back to the garrison.

The boy didn't say anything as he was led away.

.o.0.o.

Athos sat in the chair behind his desk, leaning slightly to the side against one of the armrests to alleviate the discomfort in his ribs. When he had wanted to get out of bed and do some work, this was not at all what he'd had in mind.

Constance stood behind him, and Porthos and d'Artagnan were off to the side as Captain Lahaye stood in the middle of the room, face livid.

"I demand you hand over that cadet," the man was raging. "He will hang for this heinous murder."

"It wasn't murder," d'Artagnan retorted, his eyes equally dark with fuming emotion.

"He killed one of my men!"

"How did yer man get into the center of the crowd like that?" Porthos put in calmly, brow creased with a thoughtful contemplation Athos found out of character given the circumstances.

Lahaye shot him a seething glower. "It was chaos."

"Exactly!" d'Artagnan exclaimed. "It was an accident!"

"The boy must still be held accountable." Lahaye whirled back to Athos. "I warn you, Captain—"

Athos's own expression flashed darkly, and if he were capable of getting to his feet with swift umbrage without grimacing from pain, he would have. As it was, he was forced to remain seated.

"The boy will have a trial," he said firmly. "As is the _law_."

Lahaye glared back at him for a long moment, the air between them practically crackling. "Fine," he snapped and pivoted sharply. "Justice will be served," he lobbed over his shoulder and stormed out.

Athos sagged a little in his chair and shifted, letting out the wince he'd been holding in when his healing ribs twinged. He thought he'd stop taking for granted Aramis's insistence that he rest.

D'Artagnan spun toward him and slammed a fist on the desk. "It wasn't Luca's fault!"

Athos leveled a sober look at him. "That may be, but a man is still dead."

"Somethin' isn't right about this whole thing," Porthos spoke up.

"What do you mean?" Constance asked.

Porthos's brows knitted together in thought. "I don't know yet. I jus' have a feeling."

Athos sighed. "A feeling isn't evidence in a court of law."

"Then I'll find evidence," he said staunchly and strode out of the office without another word of explanation.

Athos placed his head in his hand. His ribs were aching fiercely from sitting up for so long. "Where is the cadet now?" he asked wearily.

"I confined him to his room in the barracks," d'Artagnan replied.

"With a guard?"

D'Artagnan bristled. "No."

"He won't try to flee," Constance interjected.

"Very well. Treville should be informed."

"I'll do it," d'Artagnan said. He turned and left in an equal bluster as the last few people had.

Athos sighed again and tried to lean back in his chair, only to grunt from a spike of pain.

"Come on," Constance prompted, touching his elbow. "You should get back to bed."

He knew she was right, and there was little for him to do about the cadet and the murder charge anyway, so he let her help him up out of the chair and shuffle back toward his bedchamber.

"Do you think Luca could really hang for this?" she asked as she eased him onto the bed.

"Any reasonable judge would recognize the extenuating circumstances of what happened."

She folded the blankets back over him. "And an unreasonable judge? Or one in the governor's pocket?"

Athos's mouth thinned. He didn't have an answer to that. At least not one that would assuage Constance's worry.

Unfortunately, his silence was answer enough.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan had gone to the palace and given Treville a report of what had transpired. The First Minister had listened with the grave understanding of one who'd been a captain and experienced sticky situations with those under his command, but he didn't offer any counsel on how to get Luca out of this mess.

"Athos is right," he'd said. "The courts will have to make a ruling."

D'Artagnan had left in a foul mood afterward. What happened to defending their own? This hadn't been Luca's fault and he shouldn't be unjustly punished for it. D'Artagnan clenched his fists in anger as he stormed back to the garrison. With no other outlet for his rage, some of it began to turn inward. It'd been his idea to take the cadets to the food distribution center that morning. If it hadn't been for him, none of them would have been there and Luca wouldn't be in this situation.

But…if they hadn't been there, who knows how out of control that mob could have gotten, how many innocent people could have been hurt or killed as a result. D'Artagnan had meant it when he'd told Luca he was right to act, so he supposed he had to stand by his own decision to bring them out there in the first place.

When he arrived back at the garrison, he immediately headed toward the barracks and Luca's room and knocked on the door. He didn't get a response.

"Luca? It's d'Artagnan."

A moment later, the door opened. "Come to take me to the Chatelet?" Luca asked despondently.

"No. The matter will be taken before a judge, and until the courts make a pronouncement, you're staying right here."

The boy didn't say anything to that, and d'Artagnan shifted his weight.

"May I come in?"

Luca shrugged and backed up to grant him entrance.

"How are you holding up?" d'Artagnan asked as he closed the door behind him.

Luca kept his gaze fixed on the floor.

"It was an accident," d'Artagnan told him earnestly. "You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"I've never killed anyone before," the boy quietly admitted.

Oh, right. D'Artagnan gave him a sympathetic look and gestured for him to take a seat on the bed while he pulled up the single chair from by the hearth.

"I knew…" Luca went on. "I mean, of course being a soldier means sometimes you have to kill. I knew that. I just…I didn't expect…" His cheeks flushed red and he looked at the floor again, wringing his hands between his knees.

"It's alright to feel bad about it," d'Artagnan said kindly. "Taking a life isn't something to take lightly."

He paused, suddenly thinking Aramis might be a better person for this conversation, but since the former monk wasn't currently at the garrison, that left d'Artagnan to try his best.

"But you're right; sometimes it's necessary in order to defend the King, France, or each other. You were just doing your duty out there today."

"I wasn't, though," Luca said, jerking his gaze up severely. "I didn't kill an enemy. I killed one of our own. One of the good guys."

D'Artagnan rolled his neck. "The City Guard aren't what I'd call the 'good guys,'" he muttered.

"Well, today they were," Luca rejoined. His expression pinched in distress. "And I don't know how I'm supposed to live with that."

D'Artagnan's shoulders slumped. He didn't know how to help the young cadet. The truth was d'Artagnan didn't know what Luca was going through; he'd never accidentally shot the wrong person. He could imagine how devastating it must be. But imagining it and experiencing it were two different things. And when it came time to stand in court, to face the accusations and Captain Lahaye's adamant demands for execution…d'Artagnan wondered whether Luca had the fortitude to face that and defend himself.

Well, if he didn't, d'Artagnan would. He would testify on Luca's behalf, and he just had to hope it would be enough to clear him of any wrongdoing.


	3. Chapter 3

For the second day in a row, the Queen was once again in the gardens trying to soothe her fussy son into sleeping, and Aramis had been given guard duty again, this time with Rhaego and Ayelet. D'Artagnan and Porthos were busy dealing with the fallout of what happened the day prior with the cadet, Luca. Aramis wished he could be of help, but someone had to watch over the royals, and since he hadn't witnessed the events of yesterday, it only made sense for him to remain at the palace and let his friends handle it.

Still, he couldn't stop his thoughts from worrying.

"He seems to be doing better," Anne commented.

It took Aramis a moment too long to realize she had spoken, and then he hadn't been paying enough attention to catch it. He shifted awkwardly, trying to think of what to say.

Anne quirked a look at him. "You seem distracted."

"Apologies, Your Majesty. I am…preoccupied," he admitted.

"Is something the matter?" she asked with genuine concern.

Aramis hesitated. "There was an incident yesterday at one of the food distribution centers. A mob was somehow triggered, and in the chaos, one of the Musketeer cadets shot a city guard."

Anne's expression morphed into horror. "The guard…?"

"Dead," he said regretfully. "Captain Lahaye is understandably upset and has gone to the governor, who has pushed for the trial to happen quickly. Tomorrow, in fact. They are advocating the cadet be hanged."

"How awful."

"I'm sorry," Aramis immediately apologized. "I shouldn't have mentioned it."

Anne drew her chin up. "I am Queen and want to know about such serious matters. Has the King been informed?"

"I don't know," Aramis confessed. "With Athos recovering from his recent injuries, there hasn't been anyone to directly brief the King. I believe Treville knows."

"The King has been feeling poorly lately anyway and hasn't been receiving anyone," Anne said, a pensive purse to her mouth. "If there's anything I can do, do not hesitate to come to me."

Aramis smiled faintly and bowed his head. "You are most gracious, Your Majesty."

"The Musketeers have always served us well," she replied. "I do not doubt this was nothing more than a tragic accident."

Aramis's lips thinned. "I agree. I only hope the judge sees it that way as well."

.o.0.o.

Athos was growing restless again. There was only so much lying in bed he could take, and that was without a crisis to deal with. Not that he could do much about it anyway. The trial would be tomorrow and it was out of his hands.

Still, he was captain and he should at least speak with Luca. He should also be present at the courts tomorrow, so there was no reason not to get up and walk around the garrison a little, stretch out his strained muscles. Yet no sooner had he thrown the covers back to get up did he hear the door in the office open and close. And he was ashamed to admit that he felt rather like a child about to be caught with their hand in the sweets jar as he quickly flipped the covers back over his legs.

"Constance?" he called nonchalantly. He blinked in surprise when it was Ninon who appeared in the archway.

"She's downstairs. She said it was alright if I came up." Ninon flicked a demurely querying look at him.

"If you've come for help with the City Guard, I'm afraid I'm not the one to speak to," he said wryly.

She shot him a dry look in return. "I came to visit you while you're convalescing. And I realize that normally one would bring a get-well gift, like muffins, but unfortunately I have neither the money nor the means to bake some."

"None of that is necessary," he told her.

Ninon entered the room the rest of the way and took a seat in the chair across from the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Confined."

Her lips twitched, but then her expression sobered. "I heard about what happened with the cadet and city guard."

Athos sighed. "It's the worst thing that can happen to a soldier. I saw one or two instances of it out on the front."

"I can't imagine."

"It happens in war. But here in the city…it shouldn't."

Ninon nodded. "How did the mob start?" she asked.

"No one knows."

She hummed thoughtfully.

Athos narrowed his gaze. "Have you heard something from someone who was there?"

"No. Everyone I have spoken to was caught completely off guard."

"Then what is that pinch between your brows for?" he asked candidly.

Ninon met his gaze seriously. "I have been in Paris dealing with the City Guard for longer than you. They might not be the innocent party in all this."

Athos frowned at that. He wasn't sure how the City Guard could be guilty of anything since they were the ones who'd lost a man. But then, given what he'd seen of their conduct, it wasn't hard to imagine they'd somehow instigated the riot. But it didn't matter because they couldn't prove anything, and a man was still dead. The only thing they knew for certain was that a Musketeer cadet had shot and killed him. And when it came time to tell that in court…well, Athos had a grim feeling about what that outcome would be.

.o.0.o.

Porthos sat hunched over his tankard of ale in a dark corner of a tavern, keeping his face low but his ears and eyes peeled. This was his second night camping out in an establishment favored by city guards, his uniform left behind at the garrison and a drab cloak concealing his features. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he just knew there was more going on than what they'd seen in the street during the mob. And since soldiers liked to talk, all Porthos had to do was wait and hope some interesting information made its way to his ears.

Time was against him, though. Luca's trial was tomorrow, and Porthos didn't exactly hold much faith in the courts. He needed to find something tonight.

Finally, after two hours nursing the same serving of mead, a group of city guards came in and shuffled into a booth two tables over. Unlike the rowdy crowd of guards Porthos was used to seeing, these men looked serious as they huddled together. Porthos angled his ear toward them.

"I don't like this," one of them said in a low voice. "After what happened to Renault, the captain should've called off this scheme, but he wants us to keep disguising ourselves as refugees and stirring up the crowds? What if next time it's one of us that gets shot?"

"That was a stupid cadet's fault and he'll hang for it soon enough."

"The Musketeers have been showing up more lately. What if they bring one of their dragons?" the first man insisted. "I have no desire to die over this."

"The dragons can't be there every day. We'll just wait until a time they're not. Don't be a coward, Jacques."

Porthos quietly stood up from his table and made his way outside. It was late, and there were plenty of darkened nooks and crannies for someone to lie in wait. He picked one close to the tavern door and waited. Those city guards hadn't looked like they'd gone there to drink the rest of the night away. Still, it was a little while before two of them finally exited the establishment, including the one who'd voiced his dissent. Which was just who Porthos was waiting for.

He trailed the two for a few blocks before they finally parted ways. Perfect. With his target now alone, Porthos quickened his pace and closed in on him, waiting until they were passing the mouth of darkened side alley before grabbing him by the back of his coat and yanking him off the street. A startled yelp issued from his mouth, which Porthos cut off with a gloved hand clamped firmly over the man's lips.

"I think you an' I need to have a conversation."

The guard, Jacques, reached a hand up to shove Porthos's arm down. "What do you want?" he demanded.

Porthos fixed him with a stern glare. "Yer gonna go to court tomorrow mornin' and tell the judge the truth of what happened in the square that day."

Jacques made a scoffing sound.

Porthos merely let out a low whistle, and the creaking of roof tiles sounded from above. A pair of amber eyes suddenly peered out over the alley, Vrita's saurian contours highlighted in the waning moonlight.

"Or like you said," Porthos replied. "You could end up dragon food."

"You wouldn't dare."

"You really wanna find out?" he growled. Fisting his hands firmly in the guard's coat, Porthos dragged him out of the alley and back to the garrison, his dragon climbing over the rooftops behind them.

Even though it was late, d'Artagnan was still up and sitting at the yard table beneath the captain's office, head bowed and hands wringing between his knees.

"Athos still up?" Porthos asked.

D'Artagnan blinked in confusion at him and his prisoner. "Um, I don't know."

It looked like the light was still on up there, so Porthos hauled his captive up the stairs and to the door where he kicked lightly to announce himself.

"Athos, you up?"

The door swung open to reveal Constance's furious face. "Do you know what time it is?" she snapped.

"Yer still here," he said, nudging his way in.

Constance spluttered at him as he dragged Jacques over to the chair and plopped him into it.

Aramis appeared in the doorway to the back bedchamber. "What's this?"

"This here is a witness to what really happened at the riot the other day," Porthos replied. "Go on, tell 'em."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man rejoined obstinately.

"Maybe we should let the dragons fight over you," Porthos said. "That way they could each get a piece."

Jacques blanched and threw a desperate look around at the others. "You'd never get away with it."

D'Artagnan had followed them up and closed the door behind him. "If we take you out back to the rabbit warren, why, everyone would think you got caught trying to steal from it."

"Who is this man and why are we threatening him?" Athos asked dryly, hobbling into view.

"This is Jacques. He's a member of the City Guard, and I heard him and his friends talkin' about somethin' very interesting tonight," Porthos explained. He crouched down to stare Jacques in the eye. "You have reservations about what yer doin', which tells me you have a conscience. So use it."

Athos shuffled over to take a seat in his chair and arched an expectant look at the guard. "Well?"

Jacques shifted uncomfortably. "Renault, the guard who was killed…his orders that day were to disguise himself among the refugees and make it look like they'd started the violence."

"So when Luca said he saw a pistol being aimed at the line of city guards, he was right," d'Artagnan put in.

Jacques scowled. "Obviously Renault wouldn't have actually aimed at his own men. But…" He flicked a nervous look up at Porthos looming over him. "He was going to shoot over their heads, make it look like the refugees fired first."

"Which would give the City Guard and the governor cause to take action against them," Aramis concluded.

"Who gave those orders?" Athos asked.

Jacques rolled his neck. "Captain Lahaye."

"They've got standing orders to do it again," Porthos added.

Athos leaned forward in his chair, managing to hold back the wince he no doubt was feeling. "You will testify to this in court."

Jacques swallowed hard but nodded.

"Secure him for the night," Athos ordered. "We'll make sure he gets there."

Porthos grabbed the man by the back of his coat and hauled him to his feet. "Let's go."

D'Artagnan accompanied them out and down to an empty room that could be used as a makeshift holding space until morning. There wasn't a key to lock the door with, but that was fine; a dragon stationed outside would be enough to keep Jacques from trying to escape.

"This means Luca can't be charged with wrongful death," d'Artagnan said after they'd secured their witness.

"Not when the guard was clearly posing a threat to his fellow guardsmen," Porthos agreed. "Even if it was jus' pretend."

D'Artagnan shook his head in disgust. "I knew the City Guard were capable of some shady business, but this?"

"Jacques's testimony in court tomorrow should condemn Captain Lahaye too. 'Bout time that regiment came under new leadership."

"If the next one could be any better," d'Artagnan grumbled.

True, but that was a future problem. For now, they had a cadet's name to clear.

Porthos ended up keeping watch with Vrita outside until morning dawned and it was time for them to head to court. D'Artagnan and Constance walked Luca from the barracks to the gate while Porthos and Aramis retrieved their witness.

"It'll be alright," Constance assured the lad, who didn't look very encouraged by the fact the musketeers had found someone who could help clear him of all wrongdoing.

D'Artagnan clapped on a hand on the cadet's shoulder. "Let's go."

They set off, without Athos, of course, who was in no shape to come to court with them. Constance had stayed behind as well. And unlike the night before, they didn't have a dragon escort either. They hadn't figured on needing one, but halfway there, several shouts and screams went up in the street, and suddenly there was a runaway horse and cart barreling right toward them.

They scattered to dive out of the way. The horse veered right and the cart tipped over, throwing baskets and crates into the street. Porthos barely avoided getting clipped in the head by one of them. And in those brief moments of chaos, he lost track of Jacques. By the time he'd regained his footing and stumbled over the mess, the city guardsman had disappeared.

"Jacques!" Porthos bellowed.

"What happened?" d'Artagnan exclaimed, rushing over.

Aramis was whipping his gaze in all directions as well. "You don't think…"

"Bit of a coincidence," Porthos growled savagely. He couldn't believe this.

"We have to find him!" d'Artagnan urged. "Would he go to the City Guard garrison?"

"We don't have time," Aramis replied regretfully. "If Luca does not appear in court at the set time, he'll be marked a fugitive."

Porthos slammed his fists against his thighs. "Damn it!"

Luca looked at them, expression drawn and frightened. "I'm going to hang, aren't I?"

The musketeers exchanged grim looks, unable to assure him otherwise. Because without their witness, everything they'd learned from Jacques was hearsay and not evidence.

And without that testimony, the judge could very well rule a guilty verdict…


End file.
